


Sehnsucht

by Ariejul



Series: Alone in the Fallout [14]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canonical Character Death, Comfort, Deacon cares, Depression, F/M, Heart-to-Heart, Memories, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Preston tries to help, Self-Loathing, Sorrow, Spoilers, but that's okay, it's complicated - Freeform, survivor's guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 13:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11358264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariejul/pseuds/Ariejul
Summary: Sehnsucht: "the inconsolable longing in the human heart for we know not what," a yearning for the far, familiar, non-earthly land one can identify as one's home.Julia visits Nate on the day of his birth and remembers.Post-game.Takes place after Redamancy.





	Sehnsucht

**Author's Note:**

> Not much to say here. Just, if you're walking into this series with this story, there's going to be a bit that's confusing. I'd advise going back and reading everything before this to get the full picture. But, if not, at least read Redamancy. It covers the bit I'm talking about.
> 
> Enjoy!

Julia frowns into her drink, the sort that passes for tea in the Waste, and wishes more than anything she could have coffee again. The real stuff. She never used to miss a day without it. The sun is barely creeping above the horizon line; it will be at least thirty minutes before it moves high enough to truly matter. Sanctuary is calm right now, and she’s glad.

She isn’t craving much in the way of company today.

Finishing off her drink with one last gulp, she clunks down her cup and sighs. Stomping into her boots, she quietly exits her home and heads toward the Old North Bridge. Early morning fog curls around her legs as she walks, swirling with each movement. Dogmeat notices her and tries to follow, but she stops him with a gesture.

“Sorry, boy. I don’t want company today. _Stay._ ”

He whines but wanders back toward his dog house and plops down with a huff.

She takes a left before the bridge, following down the fence-line that keeps Sanctuary safe. Just inside the treeline at the outskirts of the settlement, she stops, standing before one of the many graves here. She swallows thickly, frowning down at the name and dates carved meticulously in the stone.

 _Nathaniel Rhys Rickson  
_ _July 4 th, 2047-October 23rd, 2077_

It had taken her a long time and quite a few failed attempts, but she’d finally managed to get all the details legible. Sturges, bless him, had been a very big help. It’s by no means perfect, but it’s there. A testament to the man that lived. A man she loved. Still loves.

Her fingers linger over that final date, the day when everything she ever knew was gone in a flash of atomic fire and ash. She’d decided to use the day the Bombs fell for Nate’s death, mainly because she didn’t know what day he actually died, and honestly, that sleepy day in October was truly the last he ever lived. She doesn’t count any time spent in that cold cryo chamber in the Vault as living.

“Oh, Nate,” she sobs, fist balled in her mouth. She collapses in a heap, silent tears pouring like rain from her eyes. Today would have been his 32nd birthday. Well, 242nd counting the time spent in cryo, but she doesn’t like to. “God, I miss you.”

Julia pulls the necklace carrying Nate’s ring out from her shirt and holds the piece of jewelry tightly in her palm. It feels like yesterday when she slipped it on his finger. She’d been so _happy_ that day. She remembers the white gown, with its sweetheart neckline hemmed in lace and long satin sleeves that came to points over the back of her hands, the beautiful embroidery that dipped around her hips and down the train of the dress. All the buttons her sister had complained about as she buttoned them. Nate had, too, that night. He'd even threatened to just rip her out of it, she remembers with a gentle fondness. She’d felt like a princess in that dress, but it, like everything else, was lost to time. A part of her wonders absently what might have happened to it, and she suddenly pictures a raider storming down the highway in stained, white satin and sobs a broken, slightly crazed laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

She plays with his ring, sliding it over her fingers, spinning it slowly around. It’s far too big for her to ever wear, but the weight of it is a comfort. The fact that it’s warm from her skin makes her feel like Nate only just left. That somehow, he’s still here.

She hasn’t thought of her husband much these past few months, and guilt curls heavy in her chest. So much of her focus has been on the here and the now – _on Deacon and Shaun –_ that Nate had become a distant thing. Still pleasant, but little more than memory. Deep down, she hates herself for that. Hates that she’s happy when her sweet bear of a husband is dead and left to rot.

She hates the fact that she replaced him.

And that thought just brings up a fount of even more pain. Because she _loves_ Deacon, _loves Ryan_ , and he deserves someone who isn’t so broken. He deserves someone who isn’t one foot always in the past, who can focus on nothing but him, but she just _can’t_. Nate will always be there, lingering in her mind like a phantom.

Running a hand through her hair, she tries so hard to will it all away. All the pain, the anger, the hatred, but it keeps floating back up to the surface. Tucking Nate’s ring away, she curls her fingers in the grass and just sobs at how wretched she is.

She hasn’t even been tending his grave properly. Someone else took that burden. Any weeds or brambles attempting to grow have been stripped clear, and the detritus of decaying leaves has been cleaned away. An old American flag, tucked safely away in its little triangular box, is resting at the foot of his stone, obvious care taken in its positioning. She absently wonders who would bother. Codsworth, maybe?

She doesn’t know, except that it isn’t her.

Julia looks to the sky, its color lightening with each passing moment. She imagines what they might have done for Nate’s birthday. A cook out, probably, in the backyard. She’d have Shaun on her hip – _God, he would have been two years old –_ and would be serving fresh-made lemonade to their friends. Nate’s kid brother, Bobby, would have been cooking the food with Nate likely hovering over his shoulder fretting about how well he was doing and babbling tips he's told a hundred times before. He never did like anyone else grilling, but Bobby would _insist_ , since it’s his birthday and Nate should just _relax_.

She would laugh at all of Bobby’s stupid faces he’d make at Shaun, while her baby giggled at his uncle. Their parents would come by, of course, pleased as punch at their cute little grandson, and maybe her sister, too, though Nora didn’t care very much for Nate or his family. That always hurt a little, knowing her big sister disapproved. Nora always said military men were bad news, nothing but trouble, and Julia had politely refrained from telling her that _every_ man these days was military. It was called a draft for a reason.

The day would have ended with them going to see the fireworks. Bobby would tag along, of course, wagging around Shaun on his shoulders so they could have a little alone time. Shaun would coo and babble, excited and maybe a little scared, but Uncle Bobby and Daddy would make sure he felt safe. Then, once everyone was gone and Shaun was asleep, she could give Nate his gift: a steamy little rendezvous under the sheets. She tries to imagine that part, too, but every time she does, Nate’s face keeps morphing into Deacon’s.

She feels guilty for that, so she stops.

“Happy Birthday, baby,” she whispers, swiping at her eyes with the palms of her hands, and managing to do nothing but get dirt in them. It only makes her cry harder.

“Julia?” a gentle voice asks behind her, making her jump. She spins, still wiping her eyes.

“Oh, uh, hey, Preston. Nice morning, right?” The words sound strange in her ears, and she hates how he looks so damned concerned.

“Yeah, glad it’s not too hot yet.” He takes a step toward her, before thinking better of it. “I can go, if you want to be alone.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. I just… it’s his birthday. I thought I should come see him.”

Preston nods, walking over and leaning on the fence beside her. He rests his rifle carefully beside him. “I understand, General. Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

She sighs, glancing over at him while hoping to hide her red-rimmed eyes. “I dunno, Preston. I just… when we got married, I.. I thought we’d be together until we were old and gray. I didn’t think that… five years wasn’t long enough.” Rubbing her eyes, Julia tries to push back the headache forming. “And now I’m here. He’s gone, and I… it feels like I betrayed him.”

Preston frowns, kicking off the wall and dropping down beside her. “General.” He stops himself with a shake of the head, his hand resting on her shoulder. “Julia. It’s okay. I can’t say I’ve been there, but… do you really think your husband would want you to feel like this?”

Julia can’t bring herself to answer that question.

When she remains silent, he continues. “I never knew him, but I don’t believe he’d want you to be alone. If it was me, I’d want you to find any happiness you could.”

That just makes the tears appear again, and she sniffles childishly. “I know that. I do. We… it never came up, but I know Nate wouldn’t want me to be upset or alone. It’s just… hard.”

He nods, squeezing her shoulder in hopes of comfort. He pulls away. “Deacon comes out here pretty often,” he says, not looking at her, “Makes sure the weeds are gone. He sat that flag out last time he was here.”

Julia manages to catch the sob before it can make it all the way up her throat. “Deacon did?”

Preston nods, standing and brushing off his pants. “Yeah. I know he would never say anything, but…” he cuts his gaze toward Julia, “I thought you ought to know.”

Plastering the best, most genuine smile on her face she can, she looks up at him. It's still a watery, pathetic thing. “Thanks, Preston. I appreciate it.”

His expression softens a little as he smiles back. “Anytime, Julia.”

“I…” she glances back toward town, at the house Deacon shares with the man beside her. “I should go.” Without waiting for a response, she drags herself up and jogs into town. She makes a beeline for Deacon’s home, where he’s just walking out the door.

Her heart leaps into the throat, and she feels like she can’t breathe, but she tosses herself into his chest all the same.

He makes a strangled sort of startled noise, slowly wrapping his arms around her when he realizes who it is. “Well, _goo_ _oo_ _d_ morning to you, too,” he quips, his voice carrying more brevity than usual. She can't decide if it sounds forced or not.

She buries her face in his chest, inhaling the sharp scent of oil and gun smoke and something else that is purely _Deacon_ , and tries in vain not to cry again. She does not deserve this man. Not in the slightest.

“Jules?” he asks, softly, when she doesn’t respond. He runs his hand over her hair with a hesitant touch, and Julia shivers.

“Sorry,” she murmurs in his shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline. “I just… really needed to see you.”

Deacon huffs a short laugh. “Well, here I am, and I’m aaall yours.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, softly, gripping him tighter. “You are.”

He leans down, lips brushing her ear. Concern is clear in his tone. “Are you okay?”

Julia smiles and nods. She tips her face toward his and catches his mouth in a desperate needy kiss. “I’m golden,” she whispers and lets Deacon hold her in the ruins of her past.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to write something like this for a little while. Had a couple of false starts before this came about. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this little peek into Julia's life before the Bombs. Also, everyone in the Wealth REALLY needs therapy. 
> 
> Also, here is the picture that inspired Julia's wedding dress description: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/5d/21/bf/5d21bf19e077d16645d326095af2ef45.jpg
> 
> I imagine she wore one of those short fishnet-type veils attached to a little fascinator with it.
> 
> I also really liked the idea of Nate being an Independence Day baby, so I ran with it.
> 
> Your comments/kudos feed my soul. :3


End file.
